


Time Will Heal All Wounds

by KATHRYNLOUISE16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KATHRYNLOUISE16/pseuds/KATHRYNLOUISE16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a visit from an old friend; and John learns more about Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Will Heal All Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first work. I'd like to note that I have created two other characters. P.S. I have no idea what's up with the spacing on this I will try and figure this out, and fix it.

John shoved the door of 221B Baker Street open and walked in, shaking the leftover   
rain from his overcoat, and heard a woman's uncontrollable crying. And worst yet, it   
was coming from the upstairs apartment that John shared with his wife, Mary, and   
his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Over the years, Sherlock has become has become   
famous for his consulting detective-work that went mainstream, via the internet   
blog John himself set up, and it was a known fact that he was blunt and often more   
than not refused cases. Had the harsh man gone too far in his accusations?  
Without another thought, John ran up the stairs to investigate. He climbed the final   
step and gazed into the open threshold with amazement. His eyes were as wide as   
possible as he watched the woman's heard buried in Sherlock's white shirt, her   
sobbing burning his ears. And he could not believe what he was seeing. Sherlock,   
buried in her hair. His body was shaking, as if he were crying as well. John could   
barely hear the claiming endearments he was saying.  
"It's not your fault," he said soothingly through his own sobs. He repeated himself   
multiple times but she still cried deep in his chest. Finally, and uncharacteristically,   
he gave up. He just rubbed her spin, and planted soft kisses on her scalp. Sherlock   
looked up and saw John trying to silently creep down the stairs. He shook his head   
and said "Come in John," as the woman lifted herself away from him. John walked   
into the apartment and noted Sherlock wiping not only his own eyes, but hers as   
well.   
The woman cleared her throat and stood. John watched as her eyes never really left   
Sherlock, nor vise visa. After a second, she turned to face John and his breath   
caught in his throat. Her bright blue eyes were still moist and running. Her dark   
brown hair was mussed from Sherlock, or so John assumed, and her clothes were   
rumpled, as if they were slept in. John tired to speak but the words would not come.   
He was suppressed by her beauty. Even with her rumbled attire.   
"Hello," she said, her American accent danced in the air between them, "My name's   
Riley. I'm an old friend of Sherlock's."  
"John," he said clearing his thought, "John Watson."  
"Riley and I met in the United States when I'd gone to assist Mister Hudson's case,"   
Sherlock said standing up.  
"Well," John said searching his mind for the correct words to say to her, to Sherlock.  
"I'm sorry," she said politely as she wiped her eyes, "But I have to be going." She   
glanced at Sherlock with a small weak smile.  
"I'll walk you out," he said buttoning his blazer.   
Riley nodded, and turned back to face John. "It was a pleasure to meet you Mister   
Watson."  
"You too," he said wanting to correct her, and note the years it took him to acquire   
the title of doctor, but decided against it when she wiped her eyes again. She   
smiled as sweetly and as solemnly as humanly possible, picked up her purse from   
its resting place on the floor, and walked past John and down the stairs. Sherlock   
followed after he paused at John, held up his hands in front of him, and mouthed   
'Stay.'   
John nodded as Sherlock turned the corner of the stairs in his descent. As he waited   
he removed his overcoat and hung it on the rack. Moments later, Sherlock returned,  
his clothes and hair damp from the sprinkling rain that had begun to fall. His eyes   
were locked on John as he unbuttoned his blazer. "That was quick," John noted.   
"Her brother was in the cafe downstairs," Sherlock said racking a hand through his   
hair.  
“If I didn't know any better,” John said walking around the coffee table and sitting on the sofa, “I’d say you highly affected by her visit.” After Sherlock did not answer, he added, “What’d she want?”  
“She came to give me some news,’ Sherlock said sitting on the sofa as far away from John as possible. Before John could ask, Sherlock began revealing things about himself, “When I was in America, I met and fell in love with Riley. After I left she never left my mind. I've always loved her. But I never thought . . . John,” he looked to his friend with a tear streaming down his cheek, the words too hard to say, “She came to tell me that my daughter, whom I've never met, died a week ago, and she’d like me to be the one of coffin bearers.”  
“Oh, god,” John said turning his whole body to face him, “I am so sorry.”  
“Her name was Emily,” a tear fell to Sherlock’s knee, “And worse yet, I feel as if I don’t have the right to mourn her. I feel as bad as my own father.”  
John didn't know what he meant by his comment about his father, but he didn't press. “Every father has the right to mourn for his children, or he’s killed them himself.” Soon, tears began to rain onto Sherlock’s knees, and all John could do was move over and comfort him.  
In the weeks that followed, Sherlock cried more than ever before. Together, Sherlock, John, and Mary, traveled to America and buried little Emily, who was only five years old. When they returned, Sherlock was never the same. He began to walk slower, and more somber. Every once and a while, he could be heard sobbing heavily into his pillow at night. And when John came in the next morning, he’d always find the picture of little Emily that Riley had given him, clasped tightly in his hand. Poor Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love some feedback! Uh, again I'd like to note Emily and Riley are my creations. The Sherlock Holmes and John Watson characters are owned by BBC (I think). P.S.: I realize that this is not the best fanfic out there but I really like, and I do really want feedback, so please comment.


End file.
